Misguided Ghosts
by Pieequals36
Summary: Samantha Puckett is all about the mixed signals and mysterious smiles." Sam/Freddie.
1. Hold Me, Kiss Me, Thrill Me

_A/N: _I own nothing unfortunately. Just bear with me though....I have a plan....read and review :)

**"_And I'm on my way to believing." - Only Exception, Paramore. _**

Samantha Puckett is all about the mixed signals and mysterious smiles. Freddie knows this; he knows her and in a completely contradictory way, he thinks, he does not know her at all. It's an unsettling feeling, one he is not comfortable with but is getting used to.

Watching her – that's another thing he's getting used to. Maybe it started when he first met her, maybe it started when he felt the need to watch out for the next punch, or maybe it started with their first kiss. Or their second. Or third. All he knows is that now, he's getting very used to watching her. She knows it too. She loves to catch him in the act, often smiles, sometimes scowls, but very rarely does she not later force him into a quiet corner and kiss him until he thinks he'll never breathe again.

She's such a woman now, he thinks. One day he just turned and saw it. It was three days after her 17th birthday, it wasn't a particularly special day, nor was she doing anything different. He rounded the corner and saw her stretched up to her locker, struggling to squeeze he oversized backpack inside. And he caught a glimpse of skin. A creamy expanse, lying exposed where her top had ridden up and her trousers had slung low revealing the band of her girl boxers. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed Sam before, or how pretty she was – he was a healthy teenage boy after all. But never before had he felt compelled to the feeling. He had never before wanted to so badly reach out and touch her. And he knew if he did he'd lose his hand, and perhaps his balls. So he pushed the feeling down, right to the pit of his stomach that now growled an empty feeling which he simply could not put down to missing lunch.

He didn't actually work up the nerve to touch her until three months later when he caught her out on the fire escape at 3am, sipping a peppy cola (which he now highly suspects was mixed with perhaps a tad bit of vodka). They talked – gentle banter, a few good natured insults and then she stood to leave, tripping on her own feet. She fell right into the hard of his chest, bracing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself. And then she looked up. Freddie to this day cannot explain the look on her face. It was wide eyed, uncomprehending and sultry all at the same time. Innocence tainted with lust.

She leaned in and whispered that another one of her Uncles had tried to touch her. He clarified "try" or "did", to which he got a simple shrug. She told him that she wanted someone who still thought she was innocent to touch her.

He thought she was innocent.

She pressed her lips urgently to his, fighting with her tongue for access. Somewhere in his head was telling him to stop, that it was Samantha Puckett and this was a very bad idea. But he couldn't resist the feeling of her tongue gently darting over his lips, coaxing them open, and then once inside struggling for dominance against his own lapping tongue. He remembers pushing, shoving and eventually forcing her against the stone cold wall. He remembers consciously, albeit reluctantly keeping his hands clamped around her neck, his thumb caressing a particularly sensitive part at her collarbone. He remembers the noise she made; this little whimper came from the back of her throat as she bit down on his lower lip. When they pulled away he can still see her large, blinking eyes, meeting his in a clouded gaze. He also remembers the punch to his gut and her smell as she escaped in the window and out of the building.

But anyway, that's how he got here, watching Samantha Puckett all the_ fucking_ time. It drives him mad. He's never in control, she decides where and when. Much like the other aspects of their friendships he supposes. She catches him, and does that flirty little smile and eye thing she does oh so well.

_Game on. _

She makes an excuse to Carly, something about needing the toilet, watching him all the while. His gaze follows the path she makes downstairs, and he too mumbles something of an excuse to Carly, Gibby and Spencer. Blindly, he follows, searching her out and instinctively going to the kitchen. She stands against the counter, leaning back, hair tossed. He lets his eyes trace up her slim legs that disappear under a short denim skirt. Another thing that's new on top of his new found voyeurism. Sam's turned into quite the seductress.

"You following me dork?" she says, her voice barely a whisper. He licks his lips in such a way it makes her visibly shiver. He advances, catching her in a hard kiss, pushing her back into the counter. She puts an equal amount of force in, clumsily kissing his lips and jaw line before his head disappears into the crook of her neck. It elicits the softest of gasps and her hands tangle in his hair, keeping him there. He feels her hands drop, suddenly caressing his torso, heading lower until she ever so lightly traces the tip of her finger along the waistband of his trousers. Alarmed, he screws one eye open. This was certainly new territory. In fairness to two randy 17 year olds, they had kept it PG until that point. He was now thinking, in the most terrified and elated fashion that he may have to bump up that rating. She feels the sudden change in his kisses and she too opens her eyes, smirking against his lips.

"Ok Benson?" she lets out.

"Um...er...yeah."

_Way to be cool, man, way to be cool. _The image of Miss Briggs in health aid class putting a condom on a banana flashes in his mind, and he suddenly panics realising he didn't pay the slightest bit of attention in sex ed.

"Sure?" she whispers.

"Guys!" Spencer's voice cuts through the kitchen and Sam pushes him away like a woman burnt.

"Yeah Spence?" she asks, smoothing down her blonde hair.

"We're ready for the experiment," he tells them, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Come on!" With that he prances off, up the stairs. Sam throws one more glance at Freddie, cocking her head a little to the side, before sighing gently and following Spencer with a little jog.

He watches her go. Fredward Benson really hates watching her.


	2. Revelry

_A/N: _Thanks for the sweet reviews  I used to write fan fic ages ago but I've been out of the game for a while so it's nice when you get such encouragment. To **lemmz17, **I'm gonna make this a multi-chapter just because I think I can do more with it. If it gets boring/is boring please let me know cos I can go converse with my muse and see if we can come up with anything better.

"**I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me". – I'm Not Calling You a Liar, Florence and the Machine**

Sam likes boys. A lot. She likes to be touched, tickled and held and as long and as they don't slobber all over her, or text her thirty times a day, then she's usually pretty happy with just the one boy. She wouldn't exactly call Fredward Benson her "boy" though. They mostly just use each other as mutual scratching posts. There are no real mushy feelings, or all the holding hands in the park, eating the same ice cream stuff. She actually isn't sure what category he fits into. So just lumps him in the friends (but only just) category. So she is certainly taken back when one day, sitting in his parked car in the school parking lot, he touches her in the most inexplicable way. And not the take your breath away type of touch.

Well.

Ok.

She did gasp a little. But that was only from shock, this she insists.

So there they were, watching the drizzle fog up his windscreen, talking about something that she can't quite remember when she says something. Something that makes him laugh in that hearty way she kind of misses since all they started doing in each others company was heavy petting and making out. Suddenly he reaches out to entwine his pinky with hers on the seat between them. She remembers flinching, pulling back disconcerted. She can feel his eyes boring into the side of her face, and she knows immediately that she's hurt his feelings. She rationalises that the dork should be used to her, but internally there is a battle raging between her hormones and a feeling she still can't name. The sound of her favourite CD echoes through the silence in the car, and she casts a quick glance his direction. He is staring blankly out the side window, playing now with his fingers in his lap. She allows herself to study his side profile. His jaw clenches tightly, his fingers now tracing a droplet of water down the window. She can see his pulse vibrating down his neck. She wonders where he learned to do things like that. Not that he doesn't know how to touch a girl - she gathers from their make out sessions that he may actually know what he's doing in that department. Instead she wonders where he learned to touch like _that. _

She has always imagined him as somewhat of a snuggler but never did she think he could be that way with her. Or that he'd want to. Afterall, he kind of hates her. Not that she minds, the feelings mutual.

Sorta.

Suddenly she's aware of his every movement, his breathing heavy. The air constricts and suddenly Sam can't breathe. She needs to do something, anything, to break the tension. She can smell him – a soft mix of Dove soap and his peppermint breath. So she throws herself harsly across the seat, grabbing him by his collar and uses her leverage to push him against the window. He thinks she's going to hit him, punch him for trying to hold her hand. But instead, while his eyes clench shut, he feels her lips rough and hard pressed against his. His own start working against hers like they belonged there all along and she loses her balance, draping herself over him. Her hand finds an interesting place nestled between his thighs and he's acutely aware of her hot arm against him. The car rocks with the sheer ferocity that Sam uses in an effort to mould her body against the boy beside her and suddenly she forgets Carly's encouraging speech about waiting for the right boy to come along. Hell, now will do. Even if it is in a beaten down Ford Mustang overlooking the grey building of her school.

With the dork.

"Freddie," she says, licking, kissing, biting.

"Sam," he replies. "Sam."

She keeps pressed to his lips, but feels him stop. She can feel him mumbling her name and pushing her away.

"What?" she growls. He's looking at her in that way again. That one that makes her feel all fuzzy inside.

"Stop," he says, pushing her onto the seat beside them, "Just stop."

A cold rush of wind hits her face as he forces open the car door, and has quick as she felt it, the car door slams shut. Her eyes follow him around to the back of his car. He stands dejected, head hanging, hands on his hips. _He was being such a girl._ She decides she better follow him before he goes and writes emo poetry in his journal and steps out into the sharp wind.

"Oi, Fredina, what the hell?" she asks, stopping in front of him, arms crossed.

"It doesn't matter Sam," he bites out, still staring at the ground. She doesn't know what to say or if she even should say anything. She wants to hit him and tell him to stop being such a sissy.

"I just wanted to touch you," he whispers. She barely catches it, but it hits her like ton of bricks on the head. She knows he doesn't mean in the way she wanted to touch him. "It doesn't matter," he repeats, his tone firm this time, "We better pick Carly up."

He leaves her standing in the rain, watching the path he makes to the driver's side. She's not sure how long she's there before she hears him call her name. Rain battered and cold, she clambers back in, shivering visibly.

"Here," he breathes, grabbing his jacket from off the back seat. He places it around her shoulders and she can smell him all over again. It's suffocating.

The next day Sam kisses a boy by her locker just as Freddie rounds the corner. She timed it well, she had to admit. She keeps her eyes shut. She doesn't want to see either boys face.


	3. War in Your Bedroom

_A/N: This is more of a dialogue piece than anything. I don't really like this chapter, I think I could've done better but alas I cannot and will not work on it anymore lol Hope you enjoy anyway, as always feedback is much appreciated :) _

"**It's a war in your bedroom baby I cut my tongue for just a taste of a piece of your flesh, my darling, I got no time to hesitate."**

Freddie hates her now. Not that he didn't hate her before, but this was different. Now he actually coils his fists when he sees her. Ok – not when he sees just _her_. More when he sees her with Justin whatever-his-stupid-name-is and they're usually attempting to eat each other's faces.

_It used to be his face she'd try to eat._

And that sounded wrong even in his head. He walks into Carly's front living room and there they are again. Sam is straddling the sandy blonde boys lap, her hands roaming to places that Freddie really doesn't want to think about.

"Am I interrupting?" he asks loudly, slamming the front door behind him. He hears the boy growl, and Sam glances up, meeting his eyes. She has the _fucking nerve_ to smile.

"Not at all Fredweird, please join us," she seethes, hopping off Justin's lap. "We're watching a film."

"Dumb and Dumberer?" he queries, faking a smile.

"More like Arma-get-it-on man," Justin interjects, licking his lips as he stares at Sam's chest. Freddie really doesn't like this jerk.

"Thought you'd be more into something like Jackass," Freddie mutters, walking towards the stairs. Justin doesn't catch it; still too busy staring at Sam, who now perches on the other side of the sofa. She watches as Freddie disappears up to the ICarly studio and has the compulsion to follow him and berate him for his snide remarks. She excuses herself to Justin and leaps up the stairs, two at a time.

"Oi Dorkface," she calls out stopping him in the hallway, "You wanna try being nice to my boyfriend?"

"Let me think....nope. Don't really want to."

"Ok let me put it this way. Leave us alone or my fist will be permanently stuck in your gut," she says through clenched teeth.

"Get over yourself Sam, I'm not following you about, nor do I care what you do with the sleezeball on the sofa. Whatever STD you catch is completely your problem."

He's rewarded with a sharp slap to the cheek, and although he's quite used to Sam's physical abuse this feels different. He lets out a dry laugh and turns his head back to her.

"Get laid Benson," she growls, "Oh wait I forgot. No girl with half a brain can control that gag reflex when looking at your face let alone do anything else."

"I distinctly remember you as little as two weeks ago working around that just fine."

There was a beat, as her stomach did a little flip thinking about Fredward Benson beneath her in his car. She really hated that stupid feeling. And the more time that went by, the more it seemed to only exacerbate it.

"Lapse of judgment, mental illness, I have number of excuses, all plausible."

"Whatever gets you to sleep at night Puckett."

"I have a boyfriend. I don't sleep at night anymore," she smirks, winking. He presses his tongue to his teeth, desperate to scream out at the blonde in front of him. Instead he flashes another tight lipped grin and turns as he hears footsteps in the hallway.

"Hey guys," Carly smiles sweetly. _She looks pretty today_, Freddie thinks absently, forgetting momentarily anything that is of any relation to Samantha Puckett. "We ready to start rehearsals?"

"Sam is busy doing other things," Freddie tells a confused Carly.

"Oh shut up Dickwad, I'm ready Carls," Sam sighs, turning and walking into the studio.

"Erm Sam, are you forgetting the boy on my sofa?" Carly asks, tentatively following her best friend inside.

"He'll be fine."

"Treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen?" Carly laughs.

Both girls turn sharply at the sound of Freddie's laughter bouncing off the studio walls.

"Got something to say Benson?"

"Not a damn thing," he replies still chuckling. She frowns, watching as he unloads his equipment.

"Whatever, so guess what?" Sam breathes, smiling brightly at Carly.

"What?" Carly giggles.

"Justin's brother works on the door of Coyote Ugly in town."

"So?"

"So he's willing to let us in tonight, no questions asked," Sam winks, her grin playful.

Freddie turns to see Carly do that adorable little lip biting thing she does when she's nervous.

"I dunno Sam, that's a club, like an over 21's club, if Spencer found out...."

"How's he gonna find out? You say you're staying at mine...."

"And you tell your mum you'll be at mine?" Carly finishes.

"Well no. I was just gonna tell my Mom I was going to a club."

Both friends look at the blonde, Carly disapproving, Freddie just astounded of the very few people that actually give a crap about her.

"C'mon Carly," she whines, grabbing her friends arm and swinging it. "Remember how I covered your ass when you skipped class to make out with Peter Langdon?"

"Carly!" Freddie chastises, startled by the revelation.

"Oh get over it Benson, just cos you're not getting any," Sam spits out.

"Oh shut up titface," he retorts, in what is probably one of his least classy moments.

"Piss stain."

"Skanky whore."

"Momma's boy."

"Loser breath."

Carly stands between her warring friends, believing that anytime now they'll remember she's here. _Yup, anytime..._

"Jerkwad!"

"Muffin butt!"

_Ok maybe not._

"Guys!" she interjects finally, glaring at them both. "What is wrong with two of late?"

"Carly," Freddie walks over to the brunette, pulling her away from Sam, "You can't actually be considering going to this club. You're 17."

"I think she's big enough to make her own decisions," Sam says, arching her eyebrows.

"Did it look like I was talking to you?" he snaps.

"Freddie," Carly breathed, reaching out for his forearm, "Listen. I think I'm gonna do this for Sam. I mean what's the worst that can happen right? It's not like one night in a club is going to forever tear down my moral standards or anything. Plus. It might be fun."

He rolls his eyes, and turns away defeated while Sam lets out a squeal of delight.

"Thank you, thank you," she says hugging her friend tightly, "It's gonna be so much fun!"

"You coming Freddie?" Carly asks.

"Oh don't ask the Dork," Sam pouts, glaring at him.

"I will. But only cos someone needs to look out for Carly. Don't want you dragging her down to your level do we?"

"Oh get bent."

"Guys," Carly warns, a little more firmly this time. "I'm just gonna run downstairs and grab my phone, can you two not kill each other while I'm gone?"

"I can't promise anything," Sam mumbles, shuffling her feet off the floor boards. Carly frowns, before winking reassuringly at Freddie. "It's ok," she mouths silently. He nods, forcing a smile. He waits until he feels she's safely out of earshot.

"Any chance you can tone down the crazy so she doesn't suspect anything?"

"Any chance you can stop pissing me off any time soon?"

"You're impossible."

"You're a dick."

"You're a wench."


End file.
